


All I've Done

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Curator [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Sex, Stucky - Freeform, ameriwinterhawk - Freeform, communication problems, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Thanksgiving plans change everything between Bucky, Steve and Clint.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Curator [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530380
Comments: 30
Kudos: 148





	All I've Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RandomYarning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomYarning/gifts).



> FIVE YEARS LATER, here's a "continuation of a Kinktober fic" for Random Yarning. Oh boy that took forever and I'm so so sorry.
> 
> Now beta read by the always amazing Ro!!!!

Usually, Steve was the one to make Clint cry. 

A judicious application of Steve’s hand to Clint’s ass was the usual. On occasion, a prolongued and intense fucking would do it as well. At those times, Bucky was usually at least teary-eyed as well. Then again, Steve’s hand on his ass or  _ Clint’s _ hand brought Bucky to tears even more quickly than Clint dissolved under Steve’s hand.

But, twice, Bucky had managed to make Clint cry. Half an hour of Bucky rimming Clint, Steve refusing to let Clint come or allow Bucky to add more than two fingers alongside his tongue, had resulted in Clint as a sobbing mess. Face-fucking did it to Clint as well, Bucky clutching Clint’s perpetually mussed hair and barely letting him breathe while Clint knelt on the floor and stared up at Bucky with his pale blue eyes while tears and spit covered his face. That was a new discovery, though, one that had delighted Steve and left Clint boneless and smiling and sprawled wide and easy. Bucky was fairly certain it would become a regular occurence.

But, this time… this time, Bucky hadn’t meant to make Clint cry.

It was a Thursday, of course, but Steve wasn’t home yet. He had a late night in the studio, but had promised to grab a pizza on his way home.

Which left Bucky and Clint on their own, for the first time.

Bucky offered him a beer, and the two of them stood in the kitchen drinking. The silence wasn’t quite awkward, but wasn’t the kind of comfortable, familiar lack of speaking that Bucky and Steve could share for hours. 

“How’s school going?” Bucky finally asked, and instantly regretted it.

Clint wasn’t that much younger - twenty-one to Bucky’s twenty-three, a junior to Bucky’s first year in grad school, but it still… it made Bucky feel old and out of touch and stupid.

It didn’t help that Clint’s lips twitched in amusement before wrapping around the opening of his beer bottle and taking a long sip. 

But then he shrugged.

“It’s okay - end of the semester’s in sight, so it’s good and awful.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, because it felt like that for him too.

“Any Thanksgiving plans?” It was the next week, after all, and Bucky felt positive that Steve had probably already talked to Clint about this - for some reason, Bucky always felt like Steve and Clint had the stronger connection, at least with anything beyond the physical.

Clint’s amusement vanished, face tightening and lips compressing into a thin, flat line. It wasn’t an expression Bucky had ever seen on his face before.

“Drinking and sleeping,” Clint bit out. 

Bucky wondered if there was any way he could just… take back the last fifteen minutes. He should have just tackled Clint to the couch as soon as he walked into the door and started undressing him. 

But.

But three months ago, when this all started as a fun, crazy Steve idea, it  _ was _ just sex. Hell, even two months ago - even a month ago. 

But now?

Now, it was more than that, for all that Bucky didn’t know quite where he stood with Clint unless their mouths and dicks and asses were involved. 

The expression on Clint’s face and the tone of his voice, so drastically different from his eternally easygoing attitude, made something squirm uncomfortably in Bucky’s gut.

“You?” Clint asked, face easing towards neutral, which was still too far away from his typical half-smirk that Bucky hated it.

Bucky rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

“Too expensive to fly home. Stevie and I are staying out here. The drinking and sleeping sounds like a decent idea,” he added, in an admittedly pathetic attempt to… Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he said it.

He and Steve did have plans, even if they weren’t to go home and spend a few days with Bucky’s family, which had been their go-to all through college, ever since Steve’s mom died their freshman year and Bucky’s mother refused to let Steve even contemplate not spending holidays with them. 

Bucky was going to cook - he had his mother’s recipe for stuffing, Steve’s mom’s recipe for cornbread, and a handful of other recipes culled from entirely too much time spent on the internet  _ not _ doing schoolwork. 

He had been looking forward to it, the break from their normal routine, even though he wasn’t delusional enough to think that either of them wouldn’t be working their asses off during the three-day break.

But now.

Now, Clint was fiddling with his beer bottle and it hit Bucky, unpleasantly and forcefully, that it would be a Thursday.

And Thursday was  _ their _ day.

And Clint.

Bucky set down his bottle, not bothering to toss back the final dregs, and reached for Clint’s hip.

Clint swallowed, but swayed forward when Bucky tugged at the waist of his jeans and let himself be pulled close.

Bucky removed the beer bottle from Clint’s too-tight grip, and Clint swallowed hard, took a moment, and then met Bucky’s gaze. 

“You wanna come over? Drink and sleep with us?” he offered, letting his fingers drift under the hem of Clint’s t-shirt and rest on the warm, smooth skin of his hip.

“You don’t have to do that,” Clint said with a frown.

Bucky arched an eyebrow at him.

“I know it’s a… you know, a day you spend with people you care about,” Clint said, and he wouldn’t meet Bucky’s gaze any longer. “You and Steve - you know, you’ve got your whole… thing. I’m not gonna mess with that.”

This was, Bucky realized, the most he and Clint had ever said to one another when both of them were dressed or when Steve wasn’t present. 

It made Bucky feel like a complete jackass. 

“Sure, but it’s a Thursday,” Bucky pointed out.

Clint gave him a look, flat and a little cold - not quite up to the level of a  _ Steve _ glare, but not nothing either.

And this, Bucky had to acknowledge, was a whole-ass  _ thing _ . A thing they needed to talk about. Because what Bucky really, really wanted to do was-

“You should come over after your last class on Tuesday. Spend the rest of the week with us.”

The words clearly shocked Clint as much as they shocked Bucky, who hadn’t had any intention of just… throwing them out there like that, more a challenge than an invitation. And not something he’d talked to Steve about at  _ all _ . 

They talked about Clint, of course. Even outside of Steve vocalizing his plans for how he wanted to torture/pleasure Bucky and Clint the next time the other blond-haired man came over. Even outside of Bucky pointing out something funny on TV that Clint might like, or Steve reading something he wanted to share with Clint. Or-

Hell.

Fuck.

_ This _ was the problem with falling in love at the age of eight and never once even contemplating being in a relationship with anyone else, ever. 

Because Bucky didn’t feel the same for Clint, the same feelings or desire or need that he felt for Steve.

But it wasn’t nothing, that squirmy, uncomfortable ball in his gut. 

It wasn’t nothing, and Bucky didn’t even want it to go away. Wouldn’t even mind if it got stronger. 

“We only do Thursdays,” Clint pointed out, voice soft and low.

“So far,” Bucky agreed. And sure, that had been at  _ his _ suggestion, but why the hell did they  _ only _ do Thursdays? Last weekend, Bucky and Steve had cleared enough time in their schedules to go on a hike and it had been awesome, and Bucky had thought, more than once, that Clint would probably have liked to join them.

“So you… want more than one day a week.” Clint said the words carefully, and while it sounded like it might have been a question, Bucky wasn’t entirely certain.

“Do you?” Bucky turned it around, made it into one.

Clint scowled at him. 

“Does it matter?” Clint responded, voice and words cutting.

Bucky sucked in a breath and made himself look at Clint, made himself take in the stiff, uneasy set of his shoulders and his pinched brow, his still too-cold blue eyes. The tension in his muscles, under Bucky’s hand.

Bucky curled his fingers, let his nails graze over the sensitive skin of Clint’s belly, and it earned him a glare. Clint wasn’t in the mood, it seemed, to be distracted.

“Yeah, it matters,” Bucky said. He would have thought that was obvious - would have  _ hoped _ it was after all this time. 

Clint swallowed hard, throat working.

“What do you want?” Bucky asked, trying to make the question as nonthreatening and open ended as possible.

The near panic in Clint’s gaze made it clear he had failed.

Clint pulled back, took a few steps to put space between them, and folded his arms over his chest in a painfully protective gesture. 

“I- I don’t - Everything’s fine. The way things are, it’s fine, okay? It’s good. I want- I want this, what we have, okay? I mean it, I’m not looking for more. I don’t want to mess up what you and Steve have. I  _ get _ it. I’m fun for now, and that’s- that’s  _ fine _ .”

And, again, a month ago, Bucky would have shrugged and let it go - because fun for now was fine with him too. Fun for now that didn’t have a predetermined end-date and would hopefully last for a damn long while was fine.

But somehow, for some reason, it wasn’t fine anymore. 

“It’s not fine,” Bucky said.

Clint’s eyes widened.

“I- Seriously. It is. I’m not- Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ ”

And then, to his absolute horror, Bucky got to see Clint cry for the first time outside of sex.

It wasn’t full-on sobbing - wasn’t, in fact, anything like the kind of crying Clint did when he was naked and begging and sandwiched between Steve and Bucky.

His face was red, and he blinked his eyes rapidly and focused on the side of the refrigerator, on the display of penis magnets Becca had given Bucky three years ago and that had somehow made their way out to California with them.

But Bucky saw it, saw the glimmer of tears before Clint scrubbed them away with his hand.

“I’ll, um. I’ll just go, okay?” Clint said, and his voice sounded wrecked. 

“What?”

“You can - just tell Steve- I, I mean. I’ll text him, actually. Tell him it’s not- I can’t-”

“Clint, what the fuck are you talking about?”

The tears were more than a glimmer now, were actual tears, and that goddamn squirmy feeling in Bucky’s gut went cold and heavy and awful.

“I fucked it up, and I’m- Fuck, I’m  _ sorry _ , Bucky. I am. I really- I kept telling myself it was okay. That it’d be enough, and you’d- you- I know you don’t like me, okay? And that’s- I get it. Fuck, do I get it. You and Steve - it’s not like- it’s not like this was ever gonna  _ work _ or anything, but I just- I. I’m gonna go.”

Clint walked out of the kitchen, made it over to the couch and was awkwardly balancing against it as he tried to pull his purple converse sneakers back on before Bucky pulled his head out of his own ass and realized just what the fuck Clint thought was happening.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Bucky said, the words feeling as awkward and weird as his earlier,  _ how’s school _ .

But Clint stopped yanking at his shoelaces long enough to stare at Bucky.

“What?”

“I said it wasn’t  _ fine _ because one day a week isn’t  _ fine _ . I want you around more than one day a week. I want you around for more than sex. I want- What the fuck do you mean, you know I don’t like you? I like you plenty. Fuck, Clint, I save fucking dog videos on my phone for you, and I don’t even do that shit for Steve. I  _ like you _ .”

Clint continued to stare, his face twisting through a series of expressions that did nothing to clue Bucky into what he was thinking or feeling.

But then Clint sat down on the arm of the couch and dropped his shoes.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t all that eloquent - but hell, Bucky didn’t have a leg to stand on where eloquence was concerned, so he wasn’t really judging.

“Yeah.”

Clint licked his lips, wiped his cheeks and eyes.

“Really?”

Bucky huffed a laugh. Were they really down to one-word conversations now?

“Really,” he repeated, even after he’d had the thought. He wanted to kick himself.

But then Clint smiled at him.

And it was the smile he’d had on his face that second Thursday - a little shy, a lot eager - hopeful.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.

-o-

Predictably, Steve had all kinds of ideas as to how to modify their Thanksgiving plans to include Clint.

In the end, the meal Bucky had planned to cook was put off until Friday, and Thursday’s ‘meal’ consisted of Clint naked and spread out on their thankfully sturdy and large coffee table while Steve and Bucky ate fruit off of him and Steve smeared chocolate over Clint’s bare skin before licking it off and Clint panted and begged and Bucky at least got to put his internet recipe skills to good use by making his own cranberry sauce and then using it to jerk Clint off and share with Clint the taste of his own cum mixed with cranberries and sugar.

It was, they all agreed, a damn good Thursday.

-o-

  
  



End file.
